


Always

by mandaplz



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Dragon Age II Spoilers, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, Love, Love Triangles, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Reconciliation, Reunions, Rivalry, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:50:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandaplz/pseuds/mandaplz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite everything that has (and hasn't) happened between Cullen Rutherford and Solona Amell, they never can forget each other.  </p><p>Amell has, in theory, moved on: not just once, but twice.  And yet she remains unlucky in love.  </p><p>Cullen has tried to lock his memories away with his lyrium.  But even as time goes on, some part of him steadfastly clings to his ill-advised infatuation with the mage that was just barely his for only a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

The occupants of Skyhold were in a tizzy, and rightfully so. The Inquistor surveyed the organized chaos in front of him, shifting uncomfortably in his ‘throne’. It was indeed a throne, though he was loathe to call it so. It seemed almost… blasphemous, in a way. A Dalish elf, the Herald of Andraste… the leader of the Inquisition, sitting on his throne and ruler of the whole roost. He ran a hand through his silvery blond hair, grimacing. A comforting hand suddenly rested on his shoulder, and he glanced up at his red-haired advisor, offering her a rueful smile.

“There is no need to be nervous.” Leliana assured him, her musical Orlais accent soothing his nerves. “The Hero is a kind woman. I’m sure she’ll quite like you, Mahanon.”

“She is a friend of yours, is she not?” Mahanon asked.

  
“Yes. Trusted comrades in arms as well as the dearest of friends.” The woman smiled.

  
Mahanon nodded, noting how the advisor on his other side twitched almost imperceptibly whenever the Hero of Ferelden was mentioned. Not that this surprised the Inquistor. Commander Cullen always acted most peculiar whenever the Hero was mentioned in the War Room. According to the giggly gossip Josephine and Leliana exchanged whenever Cullen left, he’d apparently had a boyhood crush on the famed Commander of the Grey.

  
Suddenly, the bustling throne room quieted noticeably, with the throngs of people parting semi-orderly off to the sides. There was still a soft buzzing as people whispered and chatted under their breaths. Mahanon sat up straighter on his throne, heart pounding. Months of searching, and longer months still of persuasion and pleading were finally coming to fruition. The Hero of Ferelden had been found, alive and well. Now she and a select group of loyal Grey Wardens were arriving to pledge loyalty to him, and the Inquisition. This would make an incredible impact politically, as well as on the battlefield. Yes, it had taken so long. And Mahanon felt anything but ready.

  
The doors swung open, and the crowd fell silent. Mahanon licked his lips nervously. Twenty Grey Wardens marched in, all in their matching armor of silver and blue. From what he could tell, there were mages, warriors, and rogues alike. Leading the group was a woman clad in the traditional battlemage ensemble, staff strapped to her back. Unusual for a mage, however, were the sword at her side and the majestic helm that hid her face. At her side was her second in command. He was an archer, and carried his helmet under his arm. The man was dark haired, and looked rather displeased to be here. The intimidating glare he shot at the Inquistor and his council did nothing to help Maharon’s frazzled nerves.

  
“Presenting! Commander of the Grey, Hero of Ferelden, Lady Solona Amell.” Josephine announced.

  
The assembled crowd bowed and curtsied, murmuring respects as the ensemble approached the throne. When they stood before Mahanon, they halted. Mahanon held his breath as Amell removed her helm. Long red curls tumbled around her pale face. She smiled wryly.

  
“Ex-commander, actually…” She amended quietly, before speaking aloud. “I, and the Grey Wardens with me, swear to serve you, Lord Inquisitor. We stand with the Inquisition!”

  
The crowd erupted into frenzied shouts and applause as the Hero knelt before the throne, her subordinates following suit. Mahanon shifted uncomfortably, still unused to being in such a lofty position.

  
“I… we, uh. Thank you kindly, Lady Amell.” He finally managed once the noise had subsided. “We are so very honored to have you here.”

  
Amell stood up, nodding in acknowledgement. Mahanon hesistantly slid off his throne, then approached her with an extended hand. She gripped it firmly, her smile looking more genuine.

  
“It’s nice not to be in charge for once. I don’t envy you.” She murmured, blue eyes twinkling.

  
Mahanon nodded mutely in response, hoping he hadn’t come off as ungrateful. A maid scurried to his side, apologizing profusely for interrupting, and asking if she ought show them to their quarters. He gently dismissed her apology, and the Grey Wardens swept out after her.

  
The rest of the hall dissolved into its usual state, and Mahanon turned back to his advisors, looking for feedback.

  
“That went wonderfully.” Josephine praised warmly, causing the tips of his pointed ears to turn red.

  
Leliana and Cassandra chimed in with their agreement, and the three women began discussing the next course of action with the Inquisitor. Meanwhile, Cullen seemed frozen, staring at the door Amell had vanished through.


	2. Humble Beginnings

“Ser Cullen.” Amell greeted, approaching the startled Templar.

“Oh. Um. Hello. I’m glad to see your harrowing went smoothly.” Cullen replied nervously, before rambling on. “Th-they picked me as the Templar to strike the killing blow if… if you became an abomination.”

As soon as the words left his lips he regretted them. Why on earth did he just say that!? It was true of course. Greagoir had indeed assigned that gruesome burden to Ser Cullen, undoubtedly because his admiration for the redhaired mage wasn’t exactly a secret. But telling the object of his affections that he would have killed her was probably the least romantic thing he could say.

“I-it’s nothing personal; I swear!” Cullen added hastily. “I… uh. I’m just glad you’re alright. You know.”

Amell looked surprised at his outburst, but her look softened at his obvious distress.

“Would you have really struck me down?” She wondered aloud, not sure of what else to say.

“I would have felt terrible about it…” Cullen confessed quietly. “But… but I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded.”

Amell nodded in understanding, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Of course she understood. Despite the bad hand a mage was dealt, she was a devoted Andrastian. Though it was an awful thought, if she had become an abomination, she would have needed to be struck down. She then shook her head, recalling why she’d originally sought the Templar out.

“Are you busy right now?”

“Uh… uh yes.” Cullen said automatically. Noting Amell’s crestfallen face, he quickly added, “Maybe we can talk another time.”

“I’d really like to see you in private… it’s urgent.” Amell pleaded, her cheeks slightly pink.

It was now or never. Amell was feeling oddly confident after passing her Harrowing, and wanted to strike while the iron was hot. She’d endured the teasing of her peers long enough. Hopefully there was some grain of truth to the rumors… that the handsome young Templar really did reciprocate her feelings. Amell needed to know.

Before her courage could wane further, Amell turned on her heel, red curls bouncing as she left Cullen at his post. He hesitated for a moment, glancing up and down the corridor. They were on one of the upper floors, where only a few of the senior mages lived. Usually only one Templar was assigned to the entire area, since there were so few mages and it was generally quiet. After dawdling only a moment longer, Cullen headed into the room Amell had vanished into.


	3. A Growing Ache

Commander Cullen knelt before the statue of Andraste, praying fervently. The small sanctuary was a tucked away at the far end of a Skyhold courtyard. He often came here for privacy, and to ask for guidance and peace.

            It had been nearly a month since Solona Amell had arrived with her group of Grey Wardens in tow. Cullen had been avoiding the lot of them, which was no small feat since they often held training sessions with his men. Of course, it wasn’t really Grey Wardens that unnerved him. It was one in particular. Two, actually, since Nathaniel Howe had taken to glaring at the Commander icily whenever they did happen to cross paths. It only increased Cullen’s paranoia.

            Did they know? It seemed everyone knew of his unfortunate infatuation with Solona Amell… he thought he’d long since let go of such feelings. What happened between them was a lifetime ago, and what happened… well, it wasn’t really much of anything in hindsight. That’s what Cullen told himself anyhow. Who was he to love her, to try and lay claim to her? She had always been destined for greater things.

            And… she belonged to another.

            Cullen gripped his head in his hands. The unpleasant memories seemed to coincide with his fits of lyrium withdrawal. He growled quietly, willing the pain and shakes to subside. Unbidden, images of Amell and her King Alistair flitted through his mind’s eye.

            _I had her first._

_No, she was never mine._

Cullen groaned in pain, doubling over at Andraste’s feet.

            “Maker save me.”


	4. A Token

Amell had her back to him, arms crossed. Cullen approached her nervously, suddenly second guessing himself. Why had he followed her? This was obviously a terrible idea. Cullen shuffled in front of her, taking in her unreadable expression. He took a deep breath, prepared to stammer out another awkward apology.

            He never got the chance.

            Amell moved in toward him suddenly, her hand on the side of his face as their lips collided. Cullen hesitated only for a moment before putting his hands at her waist and pulling her in close. He shivered as a breathy sigh escaped Amell’s lips. Her kiss grew more passionate, her arms winding around his neck. Cullen surely had gone mad—no, he’d died, and the Maker had seen fit to grant him his deepest desire in the afterlife.

            After what seemed to be an eternity they broke apart, gazing at each other. They were both flushed, and unsure of what to say or do. Amell then found herself smiling in a most ridiculous, blissful way. Cullen returned the smile, eyes tender.

            “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.” Amell finally said, looking mildly embarrassed. “But ah… Well. I think you know what I’m trying to say.”

            In response, Cullen fumbled with the amulet around his neck, unclasping it. Amell looked at him questioningly as he thrust it toward her.

            “It’s… my most cherished possession.” Cullen explained. “It was blessed by the Revered Mother.”

            Amell examined the amulet. It looked as though Cullen had made it himself. It was a semi-precious stone, clumsily carved with the Templar symbol.

            “Oh Cullen, I couldn’t…”

            “Please. As a, um. A token of my affection.” Cullen turned beet red, unable to express exactly what he wished to say.

            Amell nodded in understanding, fastening the necklace on herself. Though not explicitly stated, it was settled then. She was his. At last.


	5. For Justice

“Commander.”

            “ _Nathaniel_.”

            Amell turned around, gazing at her second in command sharply. He smiled in response. He know how much she hated being called that… even when the title was still officially hers. Nathaniel then chuckled, recalling how he’d once been loathe to use the title himself. Now ten years later he was all that remained of Solona Amell’s past, and was the only person she truly considered a friend.

            “I have news.” Nathaniel announced.

            “Oh?” Amell raised a brow.

            “I happened to hear a conversation between the Inquistor and that dwarf writer--”

  
            “Naughty boy.”

            “—Apparently your cousin might make an appearance.”

            “He is no cousin of mine.” She hissed in response.

            “Ah, but after years of searching, the fact that Hawke would fall into our laps? Too good of an opportunity to pass up, if you ask me.” Nathaniel answered, unperturbed by the mage’s anger.

            “You really think we’d get away with murdering one of the Inquistor’s potentially valuable allies?” Amell scoffed.

            “You’re the more valuable asset.” Nathaniel pointed out.

            “Flatterer.”

            “Perhaps. But justice must be served.”

            Amell nodded slowly, eyes far away. Nathaniel knelt before her, clasping one of her hands between his own. The two stared at each other solemnly for a moment.

            “I swear to you, he shall pay for what he did to Anders.”


	6. Another Guest

Mahanon trotted up the stony stairs, trying his best to look casual. Yet another famed member of the Amell clan had arrived at Skyhold, though with significantly less fanfare. Varric had seemingly done the impossible and summoned Garrett Hawke, Champion and Viscount of Kirkwall, out of hiding. And like many before him, the intimidating rogue was prepared to help the Inquisition… to help Mahanon.

            The elf took a deep breath, hoping he looked dignified as he approached the designated meeting spot. He would have recognized Hawke anywhere. Like most of Thedas, Mahanon had read some of Varric’s book. And Garrett Hawke was every bit as tall, dark, handsome, and frightening as the story said. Upon spotting Mahanon, the man’s face split into a grin.

            “Hello, your majesty.” Hawke quipped.

            “Ah. No. Mahanon, please.” The elf objected uncomfortably.

            Varric chuckled. Typical Hawke. The world was (literally) being torn apart, and he still saw no reason to truly be serious.

            The unlikely trio began discussing Corypheus, unaware they were being watched closely.

            On a rooftop nearby, Nathaniel Howe and Solona Amell lay in wait, bickering quietly. Nathaniel had wanted to bring in the rest of the Grey Wardens, and cause a scene. He argued that Hawke had committed a crime against the Order as a whole by murdering Anders. Amell, on the other hand, wasn’t keen on inciting a riot. And though Nathaniel was correct, Amell’s interests were less about justice, and more about personal revenge.

            Unbeknownst to all of them, an oblivious Cullen was exiting his tower in search of fresh air and a relaxing walk. His head needed clearing, and he was so preoccupied that he might not have noticed the Inquistor, the Champion, and the writer having a conference. Were it not for the sudden commotion caused by two Grey Wardens ambushing them.

            Cullen drew his sword reflexively, taking in the odd scene before him. Amell had a sword of her own at a bemused Hawke’s throat, while Nathaniel blocked Mahanon from interfering. Varric was caught in the middle, and trying unsuccessfully to talk Amell down.

            “You are a murderer, and shall pay for your crimes against the Grey Wardens.” Amell snarled, not noticing Cullen approaching cautiously.

            “Ah. Cousin. Is this how we Amells traditionally greet one another?” Hawke inquired.

            “You are NOT kin to me!” She snarled.

            “Right, right. We’re not closely related at all, actually.” Hawke agreed, looking the angry woman up and down appreciatively.

            “What in the name of Andraste is going on!?” Cullen finally interjected, making eye contact with Amell for the first time since she’d arrived.

            Amell tore her gaze away, glaring back at Hawke.

            “You killed Anders.”

            Hawke frowned, as this was common knowledge, and certainly nothing new. He then saw a glint of gold in Amell’s ear. A single gold earring, despite her other ear having no piercing. The earring’s mate was in the ear of a long-dead apostate, Hawke realized. This was the girl Anders had once written to, had loved, before Justice took him body and soul.

            “You two… I’m so sorry, Solona.” Hawke said quietly, voice full of pain and regret. “I cared for him too. He was my friend. But he wasn’t Anders anymore. You know that wasn’t him. Anders had been gone for a long time.”

            The hand holding the sword began to shake slightly. Amell blinked furiously, refusing to allow her anger to turn to sorrow. How could he understand? Anders had been her last chance, her last hope. After Anders, Amell knew that the Maker simply didn’t plan for the Hero of Ferelden to have love in her life.

            Amell sheathed her sword just as suddenly as she’d drawn it. Hawke reached for her, only to be shoved aside as she stormed off, cloak and hair flying behind her. Nathaniel called for her but received no answer. He started after her, but realized it wouldn’t help. Instead, the rogue settled for punching a distracted Hawke square in the jaw before vanishing a puff of smoke.

            Hawke swore loudly, rubbing his face.

            “Will somebody explain what is going on!?” Cullen demanded, rounding on Varric.

            “It’s pretty obvious Curly.” Varric answered glumly. “Red and Blondie had a thing, Blondie turned into an abomination, Hawke did what had to be done.”

            “Had… a thing.” Cullen repeated, finding himself more focused on that implication than anything.

            “Yeah. You know, they--” Hawke made a rather crude gesture and snickered, forgetting his aching jaw.

            Cullen flushed red, though whether it was from embarrassment or anger he couldn’t say.

            “I thought she… and the king…” Cullen managed, looking torn between confusion and disgust.

            “Oh, that ass?” Hawke frowned. “From what Anders said, I guess the King decided Ferelden couldn’t have a mage queen. So he sent Amell to Amarathine, and got hitched to some noble girl.”

            Cullen nodded mutely, the blood pounding in his head. He’d always told himself that at least he could take comfort in the fact that Amell was happy with that oaf, and well taken care of. There were all sorts of rumors still, even ten years later, that the Hero and the King were secret lovers. Hell, he’d heard the blasted songs about it sung in the tavern.

            The ex-Templar found himself, not for the first time, staring in the direction where Amell had gone.


	7. Temptation

The last time Ser Cullen had seen Solona Amell, she had been ushered out by a Grey Warden. There were no goodbyes, or last kisses, or promises of love. Only a short pain filled glance. It was then he’d vowed to put her out of his mind. He knew he could never truly forget her in his heart, but Amell was lost to him now.

            Or so he’d thought.

            “CULLEN!”

            The shaking Templar looked up from his prayer, stunned. The demons had slaughtered his brethren and encaged him, and he’d been praying for Andraste to take him to the Maker’s side. Then all at once Amell was here. Here for _him_.

            “Amell?” He whispered hoarsely.

            With a few waves of her hand, the gleaming purple barrier dissipated as she rushed to him. She was somehow more beautiful than Cullen remembered… her red hair was longer, her blue eyes bigger and brighter than he’d ever seen. Amell was wearing a rather odd, revealing outfit… like some witch from the woods, rather than traditional Circle garb.

            “Oh Cullen, my love!” Amell cried, falling to his side and flinging her arms around his neck. “I thought I’d lost you.”

            “And I you.” Cullen replied, returning her embrace eagerly.

            “I came back for you.” Amell murmured, breath tickling his ear. “I couldn’t bear to be without you.”

            Amell began running her hands through his matted curls, untangling them. She began whispering sweet, soothing nonsense to the Templar, who continued to cling to her. It was a miracle. By the Maker, she’d come to save him.

            “Solona, we must go.” Cullen said suddenly, remembering the urgency of the situation. “Uldred has gone mad.”

            “We shall, love.” Amell promised, almost purring. “Just a moment longer.”

            Cullen frowned, about to protest when Amell pressed her lips to his. It had been so long since he’d held her, _tasted_ her. But something wasn’t right… And yet every time he tried to pull back, Amell kept pursuing him aggressively. All at once a feeling of nausea overswept Cullen as he realized what his lover was doing.

            “NO!”

            Cullen knocked the woman back with a roar. She landed hard on the ground, looking surprised. Amell then tossed her head back, laughing. Cullen watched in horror as his suspicions were confirmed. Her pale skin turned violet, and her lovely features began to twist and sharpen. Soft locks twisted and hardened into horns. Limbs elongated and Amell’s voice distorted as the Desire Demon revealed its true form.

            “I suppose I tried a little too hard.” The demon mused. “I’ll have to dig deeper into your memories…”

            Overwhelmed, Cullen found himself heaving and retching. The temptress before him laughed sadistically. It had been so long since she’d had a new pet. And she couldn’t recall the last time she’d toyed with such a pure, handsome mortal. It was so… _delicious_.


	8. Memories

“Are you ever going to talk to him?”

“ _Leliana._ ”

“ _Solona_.”

“No.” Amell deadpanned.

The other woman sighed, looking disappointed. In the year they’d travelled together, she had often regaled the Warden with her tales. As an Orlesian Bard she’d had quite a few. Amell’s favorites were always the love stories, though she’d sworn Leliana to secrecy. Once (and only once) Amell had even shared a story of her own with Leliana.

The younger girl had shown her companion a crudely carved amulet, and explained how she’d once thought she was in love with a Templar. Leliana was smitten with the idea of the mage and Templar, forbidden lovers who remained true despite all odds. Amell had pointed out that it was a silly infatuation. And besides… another Templar of sorts had caught her eye.

Everyone knew how poorly _that_ had turned out.

“Are you attending the ball?” Leliana asked suddenly, changing the subject.

“At the Winter Palace? Maker, no.” Amell looked disgusted.

Leliana frowned.

“But you’ve never been to an Orlesian event.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Amell replied, causing Leliana to look scandalized.

The rogue recovered quickly however, a sly smile crossing her face.

“Perhaps you might convince our dear commander to dance with you?”

“I’d sooner kiss Hawke.”

“That _would_ be a sight…” Leliana mused, eyes suddenly far away.

“He’s my cousin.”

“Once removed.”

“ _Leliana_!”

“You deserve happiness.” Leliana said simply, suddenly serious. “Whether you believe it or not. Love will come to you yet, Solona. New or old.”

Amell sighed, shaking her head at Leliana’s earnest expression. She knew her friend meant well of course. But there were simply more important things to worry about. Especially with the threat of Corypheus growing larger by the minute. Amell sincerely hoped that Leliana’s unhealthy fascination with her love life wasn’t the result of another vision sent by the Maker. She’d had enough of the Maker’s gifts for a lifetime.

The two women parted soon after, and Amell walked along Skyhold’s battlements, brooding. She had missed Leliana’s company over the years. But at the same time, being reunited brought up too many memories. Memories Leliana insisted on discussing whenever they had extended time alone together. Normally Alistair was brought up, or occasionally Anders. And now finally, what she’d dreaded most: Cullen.

Before arriving at Skyhold, the last encounter Cullen and Amell shared had been at Kinloch Hold. It hadn’t exactly gone well, seeing as Cullen was out of his mind and thought Amell was a demon come to prey on his soul.

Amell was long past that. She had forgiven Cullen almost immediately. But despite his suffering being at the hands of a demon, she could not help but feel responsible. Had she not given in to their feelings, he would not have been vulnerable. And Amell knew even before, his fellow Templars and their Knight-Commander were suspicious of his feelings, and tormented him regularly for it.

Yes, Cullen’s life would have been so much better had Amell not pursued him.

And yet ten years later, she still wore his amulet, tucked safely under the collar of her robes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's reading this... eventually this will all flow a little more cohesively, with less flashback chapters. And less disjointed present time chapters.
> 
> Also, if I might be so bold as to ask for feedback? I was toying with the thought of adding some present-time Hawke/Amell, and possibly Alistair coming back into the picture as well. Thoughts?


	9. A Little Birdie

           “My dear cousin!”

            Amell groaned as the door to her quarters flew open, revealing a cheerful Hawke. She had quickly learned that if Garrett Hawke was happy, it was likely because he was up to something. The Warden had been writing a detailed report on her last excursion with Nathaniel. All mission reports were sent to a certain Commander Cullen, and Amell had been taking extra care to make sure hers were perfect. Despite months of residing at Skyhold together, this was the only way Amell and Cullen communicated: through formal reports. Cullen always followed up on her reports promptly, giving her feedback and often another assignment. As odd (and rather silly) as it was, Amell always looked forward to Cullen’s replies. His neat handwriting, the over-formal tone… it was all so very Cullen.

Amell shook herself from her reverie, and regretfully set her quill down. There would be no concentration with her current company. Hawke sauntered over to her desk just as she stood up, backing her up against it. He placed a hand on either side of her, bracing himself on the desk as he leaned in over her.

            “ _What_?” Amell glowered.

            “A little bird told me you have no prince to whisk you away to the ball.” Hawke smirked.

            _Leliana_. Amell scowled. She considered trying to make a run for it, but didn’t want to give Hawke an excuse to grab at her.

            “On a more serious note… if you and I were to attend anonymously, we could provide backup for the Inquisitor should things get nasty.” Hawke added.

            “Take one of my men.” Amell replied, looking annoyed.

            “They’re not my type.” Hawke winked.

            With a sudden movement of the mage’s wrists, a blast of energy sent Hawke flying against the opposite wall. He managed to land on his feet, but was winded nonetheless.

            “Fine, fine.” He complained, raising his hands in surrender.

            Amell rolled her eyes, then turned back to her desk, intent on finishing her book. She jumped as Hawke suddenly spoke in her ear.

            “I ought to ask properly.”

            The redhead whipped around again, this time to see Hawke on one knee. He clasped one of her hands between his, bringing it to his lips.

            “Lady Solona Amell, Commander of the Grey, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Hero of Ferelden. Wouldst thou do me the honor of accompanying me to Orlais next week?” He asked solemnly, though his eyes were still bright with laughter.

            Amell’s free hand massaged her temple, and she sighed in irritation. She was sorely beginning to regret personally coming to Skyhold to offer her assistance.

            And yet… it was just one night. One dreadfully boring night, but perhaps it would be a much needed distraction from the usual Inquisition business.

            “I have conditions. Most importantly: complete anonymity.” Amell finally answered firmly. “No one knows who we are. And our aliases need to be drab and uninteresting.”

            “Of course.” Hawke assured her with a wicked smile. “Just leave the details to me.”


	10. Belle of the Ball

            Cullen fidgeted with the hem of his jacket. Why did this accursed outfit have to be so _tight_? Much to his horror, the Orlesian nobles also noticed how well-fitted his dress uniform was. And they commented on it. Repeatedly, and (if he was not mistaken) lustily. Cullen wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Whenever he tried to make eye contact with Josephine or Leliana, they vanished.

            He surely would go mad, he thought. The word ‘no’ was beginning to sound odd to his ears. And it was obviously a concept his admirers couldn’t grasp. Cullen let out a rather undignified yelp as one of the men walking by him pinched his rear appreciatively. He tried to focus instead on the parade of people being announced, and tossed back another glass of champagne. Suddenly, one pair in particular caught his interest, and he nearly choked on his drink.

            “Lord and Lady Partridge of Kirkwall!”

            A familiar dark-haired man with a wide grin led his companion down the grand stairs. She was petite, but had generous curves that were emphasized by the cut of her ballgown. It was the latest in Orlesian fashion, with a plummeting neckline and a tightly laced corset. Both she and her companion were matching in royal blue with black accents. They each had an elegant mask made of dark feathers as well. But it wasn’t the outfits that caught Cullen’s attention. At least, not immediately. It was that brilliant red hair, done up in some intricate braided bun.

            “Solona.” He mumbled in disbelief.

            And, if he wasn’t mistaken, she was accompanied by none other than her distant cousin Hawke. The couple soon was out of Cullen’s sight, and he mentally cursed. What on earth were they _doing_ here?

            The Commander insistently excused himself from his growing throng of admirers, and made his way through the crowd. He was a fairly tall man, and Hawke was taller still. Yet Cullen couldn’t find him or Amell. He did, however, find a rather amused looking Leliana, who quickly filled him in on her “emergency backup” plan.

            Before Cullen could object or demand more details, Leliana had vanished, leaving Cullen to the wolves. His admirers appeared once again, with more disturbing compliments and proposals.

            As the evening wore on, Cullen found himself in the same predicament. The monotonous torture was broken only by whispered updates from the Inquistor, and glimpses of Hawke and Amell dancing together. An irrational part of Cullen was bothered by the two of them together. Amell was no longer trying to kill Hawke, but Cullen hadn't thought that meant they were suddenly friends. He clenched his jaw at the sight of Hawke twirling Amell about effortlessly. They earned applause as Hawke dipped her low, kissing her cheek. Amell laughed in response.

            And then he heard her scream.

            Amell stumbled back into Hawke’s arms, clutching at her side. A dark splotch was beginning to spread across her dress. Cullen drew his sword and leapt over the banister. Orlesian guards and the Inquisition representatives also drew their weapons. Guests began to scream and run for cover as demons and human assassins alike attacked.

            Cullen battled his way toward where Hawke was defending Amell. He grunted as he was suddenly caught in the shoulder by another assailant. He swung his arm up to defend against the second attacker, then deftly thrust his sword into the other opponent. Cullen spun to face the other man, only for a dagger to suddenly fly into the man’s heart. Cullen turned to see Amell with one hand outstretched, the other glowing as she healed her wound.

            Hawke was defending her flank, twin swords flashing. Cullen rushed to Amell’s other side with a roar, cutting down another attacker. The three of them fought nearly back to back, Cullen and Hawke at close range, while Amell aided them with bursts of flame and lightning.

            The battle finally subsided, and the Inquisitor appeared, along with the Empress. Leliana made her way toward Cullen, Hawke, and Amell, looking grim. Apparently, this entire debacle was the result of the Grand Duchess’ attempt on the Empress’ life. Unsurprisingly, she was another pawn in Corypheus’ plot.

* * *

 

            A more organized chaos soon overtook the Winter Palace as frightened nobles prepared to head home. Mages swept about, tending to the wounded. Servants began attempting to clean up the damage. Cullen found himself wandering onto a vacant balcony, seeking fresh air. At least, he’d thought it was vacant.

            “Cullen.” Amell greeted.

            Her elegant hairstyle was falling down, and her luxurious gown was bloodstained. But by the Maker, Cullen still would have sworn she was the most beautiful woman in all of Thedas at the moment.

            “Amell.” He replied, looking hesitant. “I must confess… I’ve been avoiding you.”

            “Avoiding each other.” Amell corrected, looking a little embarrassed. “We’re a bit old for this game by now.”

            Cullen nodded, licking his lips nervously. He had so many things to say. At least, he thought he did. His mind was oddly blank.

            “I’ve never seen you fight before.” Amell commented, looking at him admiringly. “You’re… quite formidable.”

            “You aren’t bad yourself.” Cullen managed, eliciting a smile from the mage.

            They fell into an odd silence again, though it wasn’t as awkward as Cullen had imagined. He was about to apologize, as was in his nature, when Amell spoke up again.

            “I have been meaning to try and talk to you.  I’d actually, ah… wanted to ask you to dance.” She confessed. “Hawke wasn’t having it though. The lecher.”

            “I don’t dance.” Cullen answered automatically, his tone gruff at the thought of Hawke’s hands on Amell.

            She nodded sheepishly, toying with one of her loose curls. Of course not. Amell hadn’t been sure what she was thinking.

            “But uh. For you, I would have tried.” Cullen amended hurriedly.

            “It’s not too late.” Amell suggested, looking mischievous.

            Cullen frowned, glancing back at the wreckage in the ballroom. There was no place _to_ dance, much less music. Amell moved toward him anyway, guiding one of his hands to her waist while she clasped the other in hers. She rested her free hand on his shoulder and began to hum. It was an old chantry hymn that Cullen recognized, despite how off key Amell was. He chuckled and began to sway along to the ‘music’.

            “This is going much better than I expected.” Cullen commented, looking down at Amell. “I… thought you hated me.”

            “Hated you?” Amell was startled out of her tune. “By the Maker, why would I?”

            “Our last, erm… conversation.” Cullen reminded her, looking ashamed.

            “Cullen… You were not yourself.”

            “I was weak. And that weakness caused me to hurt you.”

            Amell stopped their dance, staring up at him incredulously. Ten years later, and his eyes were still filled with such pain and regret. Amell released their hands, cradling his cheek.

            “I forgave you long ago.” Amell assured him softly.

            “I’m not worthy of your forgiveness.” Cullen objected quietly, closing his eyes at her touch.

            Amell laughed a little at the sentiment. Cullen frowned, eyes flying back open in confusion. Was she mocking him?

  
            “That’s so… _you_.” She said fondly. “I… know it’s strange to say, after so long… but… I missed you.”

            The ex-Templar looked down at the mage before him in wonder. He then swallowed hard, unable to identify what he was feeling. Relief perhaps, at finally knowing he need not feel guilty? Or maybe, something a little deeper. Before he could overthink it, Cullen swept a surprised Amell into a tight embrace.

            “Thank you.”


	11. Chess

            “Your lady friend is quite pretty.” Dorian commented idly.

            The Tevinter mage then took advantage of Cullen’s spluttering response to capture his rook. Solona Amell had just strode by their chess table, and exchanged a casual greeting with Commander. Most people wouldn’t make much of the exchange, but Dorian saw the blush creeping up the back of Cullen’s neck.

            “This is the one who got away, is she not?” Dorian persisted as Cullen attempted to focus on his turn. “Your first love?”

            Cullen miscalculated. And sorely regretted ever confiding anything in his longtime chess partner.  Dorian cheerfully declared checkmate just two turns later. Much to Cullen’s annoyance, however, Dorian continued to badger him about the Grey Warden.

            “We’re only friends, Dorian.” Cullen sighed. “Surely you’ve heard the songs? Of the Hero and her King?”

            “Yes, yes. Old news.” Dorian said impatiently. “I am more interested in the tale of the mage and her Templar!”

            “There’s nothing to tell.” Cullen insisted, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Have you been gossiping with Leliana?”

            “I was just going off my own observations.” Dorian mused. “But Leliana, you say?”

            Ignoring Cullen’s protests, Dorian sauntered away in search of the spymaster. The Commander groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

            “Pondering your next move, Commander?”

            He opened his eyes to see Amell had settled into Dorian’s vacant seat. She began moving the pieces back to the correct places. Cullen was surprised to see she remembered where they all went. He had once taught her the basics of chess, hidden in the Circle library under the cover of night. But Cullen assumed she’d forgotten. He doubted the Hero of Ferelden had much time for board games.

            “I’m quite rusty, but I’m up for a game if you are.” Amell looked at Cullen hopefully.

            In the weeks since the Winter Palace disaster, Cullen and Amell had been friendly, but at arm’s length. They often crossed paths at Skyhold, but usually one or both of them was busy, and hadn’t had time for a proper conversation. And so Amell had decided to seek Cullen out herself.

            “I’ll go easy on you.” Cullen promised with a crooked grin.

            Despite Cullen making some horrendous mistakes, the game ended in less than thirty minutes with Amell taking the loss. She remembered the rules as Cullen had taught her. But certainly none of the strategy.

            “In my defense, you never taught me to play _well_.” Amell chided teasingly.

            “We’ll have to rectify that.”

            Amell looked up to see Cullen smiling, golden eyes bright.

            “I look forward to a rematch then.” Amell beamed, standing up to leave. “But for now… I have some reports I’ve been putting off. Thanks Cullen.”

            There was a snort behind him as Amell walked off, and Cullen whipped around to see Dorian lounging on a nearby bench.

            “‘Rectify’…” The mage muttered, too amused for Cullen’s liking. “Really Commander, I- OUCH!”

            Cullen had thrown a knight piece at Dorian and smacked him square in the forehead.

            “Checkmate.”


	12. Good Deeds Never Go Unpunished

 

          Cullen paced in front of the door, murmuring quietly under his breath.

         “Warden Amell, I would… no... ah, Lady Amell if you’d care to… to join… me…” He groaned, running a hand through his golden hair.

          He finally stammered to a halt and faced the door that was causing him so much anxiety. It shouldn’t be this difficult to invite a comrade to dine with him. That’s all this was after all. Two old friends, having luncheon… in his tower... alone… preferably with the doors locked…

          Cullen licked his lips nervously. He’d had the most peculiar thoughts lately.

          Just as Cullen had finally summoned the courage to lift his fist to the door, it swung open to reveal a rather irritated Nathaniel Howe.

         “What are you doing?” The Warden asked, eyes narrowed. “You’ve been thundering past for a half hour.”

         “Excuse you, but I… I most certainly have not!” Cullen spluttered, ears turning red. “What are YOU doing, in- in- Lady Amell’s private quarters?”

         “I have permission to be here.” Nathaniel replied haughtily. “If you must know, I am borrowing some of her books to supplement my latest report.”

         “Ah. I see.” Cullen managed. “Where…?”

         “Out.”

         “I beg your pardon?”

         “Solona. She’s out. Not here? Away?” The rogue sneered.

         Cullen frowned. He’d specifically seen to it that Amell hadn’t been given any type of tasks or missions this week. He opened his mouth to inquire further, but was cut off.

         “It’s not of your business where she’s gone. I don’t answer to you… Commander. Good day.”

         With that, the door was snapped shut and the lock clicked. Cullen gaped wordlessly for a moment, trying to figure out what had just occurred.

* * *

 

         Meanwhile, Amell was busying herself amongst the common rabble. All sorts of pilgrims had come to Skyrim seeking refuge: the hurt, the hungry, the poor, and the penniless. The lack of official tasks had allowed Amell to finally put all the herbs she’d been gathering to good use. She’d created several different antidotes and remedies, and was personally dispensing them to the less fortunate… in disguise, of course. The Hero of Ferelden had gotten more than enough attention in the months past and was content to do this deed silently.

         Ironically enough, this was just as risky as going outside of Skyhold to battle their enemies. A strange and terrible virus had spread in the refugee camp. The only cure was an incredibly rare, fragile flower that was ground into a powder and then added to a regular health potion.

         Amell’s remedy was quickly used up. But she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that all of the sickness seemed gone from the camp. The survivors were on the road to recovery and no longer infectious. The victims’ bodies had been burned, along with anything they’d worn or touched.

         “All’s well that ends well.” Amell smiled to herself as she headed back up the castle steps.

         She’d just removed her hood when an odd tickle began in her throat. The tickle grew into an itch, then her lungs seemed to squeeze. Amell coughed into her hand, earning some irritated looks and squeals from a nearby group of Orlesians.

         “Sod it all.” She murmured once she’d overcome her coughing fit. The metallic taste in her mouth, the red liquid streaked across her palm… Apparently the virus wasn’t as gone as she’d thought.


	13. A Call for Help

            Upon realizing she had contracted a potentially deadly disease, Amell rushed off to check Skyhold’s storerooms.  All medical and magical ingredients gathered on missions were kept there.  Unfortunately, the particular little flower Amell needed was nowhere to be found.  Not that this surprised her in the slightest.  Her own personal supply was used up on the refugees. She coughed again, and pressed a handkerchief to her mouth to catch the blood.

            _‘Nathaniel will kill me for being so careless… assuming this doesn’t get me first.’_ The Grey Warden mused dryly.

            As predicted, the already irritable Howe was less than pleased with his Commander’s sudden illness.

            “You led the Grey Warden Mages in a research project on the prevention of spreading disease.” Nathaniel scolded. “How could this have happened?”

            “I’m not sure.” Amell scowled back. “I did everything right. I washed my hands, covered my face, burned everything that was infected…”

            She paced around the small library alcove they had claimed, brow furrowed.  Amell went over ever group of patients in her mind, trying to figure out what she could have done wrong.  Did the disease spread some other way?  Or…

            “The baby.” Amell mumbled, looking guilty as Nathaniel narrowed his dark eyes. “The mother had passed and he wouldn’t stop fussing.  The kerchief on my face wasn’t helping, so I took it off and was cuddling him… he started showing symptoms not long after…”

            “How could you be so careless!?” Nathaniel demanded loudly, attracted the attention of several other library browsers.  He lowered his voice again, still seething. “Damn it, Solona… Do you not realize how important your health is?  How important _you_ are?”

            “At least it’s not contagious at this point.” Amell said wearily. “I’ll be the last.”

            Nathaniel looked alarmed.  This peculiar disease was passed along by people who showed no symptoms.  That was how it spread so quickly.  But now that Amell was showing signs, the infection was only a danger to herself.

            “How long…?” Nathaniel trailed off, unable to voice the thought.

            “About two weeks.” Amell replied grimly, shutting her book and replacing it on the shelf.

            “We need to alert the Inquisitor and his Inner Circle.” Nathaniel decided. “Then everyone that leaves Skyhold can be on the lookout for these flowers.”

            “Actually, I already spoke to Scout Harding about where they grow… when she checked, frost had destroyed both patches I know of.” Amell admitted sheepishly.

            “There has to be some out there still.” Nathaniel argued.

            The two Wardens bickered back and forth for a while until coming to an agreement.  They would only tell Leliana and the Inquisitor, who would use their resources to try and find the cure.  If at the end of two weeks a cure could not be found, Amell’s wish was to go to the Deep Roads and die as all Grey Wardens are meant to: battling Darkspawn.  Nathaniel, for his part, wasn’t going to fulfill that last request, despite Amell’s insistence that it was the “right thing to do”.

 

* * *

 

            Immediately after hearing the news, Inquisitor Mahanon and Leliana took off to help.  Mahanon set off with Varric, Cassandra, and Solas in order to scour Ferelden for the mysterious flower.  Leliana retired to her tower and wrote one of the longest letters she had in quite a long time.

            The redheaded woman paused before she tied the scroll to her crow’s leg.  Was this really the right thing to do?  Amell would be furious.  But if it saved her life… well, then Leliana didn’t really care what her old friend thought.  Just so long as she was alive to think it.

            She watched the crow take off, the heavy scroll causing it the fly a little lopsided.  Within a day it would reach another old friend of the Warden and Nightingale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Thanks to Melinda_Oz for catching my mistype... we're in Skyhold, not Skyrim! Haha. :)
> 
> Thank you all again for the kind notes! I'm incredibly sorry for the wait. Thank you Henna for reminding me just how long it has been since I updated. I've been throwing around some other ideas as well...
> 
> I'm thinking about doing a few one shots (or starting another series or two) that are in second person. i.e. Reader/You X Character(s). Keep an eye out for more from me on the way!


	14. Knight in Shining Armor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, over a year later. Eek. Will anyone even read it? Will I update again?? Stay tuned~

“You’re going to wear a rut into my nice floors.”

            Nathaniel stopped his pacing abruptly, shooting the speaker a dark frown.  Amell replied with a wry smile that vanished as another coughing fit began.  Her companion rushed to her side, pulling her into a sitting position and rubbing her back and as she hacked blood into her kerchief.  Once it was over, he raised a goblet of water to her mouth.  She drank gratefully, then laid back on the pillows to rest.

            She’d been struggling with her sickness for a week, and showed no signs of improvement.  The color was gone from her cheeks, and she’d clearly lost weight.  Worse still, the Inquisition had not been able to find the flower needed to cure her.  Amell didn’t seem overly bothered with this, much to everyone’s frustration.  She’d already completed her purpose long ago as far as she was concerned.

            “Our Maker, who art beyond…” Nathaniel began to recite a prayer fervently, while Amell closed her eyes in preparation for another nap.

            The door flying open with a bang startled them both.  Amell began to cough again while Nathaniel flew up, drawing an arrow back.  An annoyed Hawke had burst into the room, and easily knocked past the archer.

            “What the hell?” He complained to Nathaniel, gesturing toward the bemused Amell. “I’ve been wondering where she’s been, and no one thought to say, ‘Hey Hawke, your cousin might drop dead’!?”

            “The Commander’s health and personal matters are of utmost sec--”

            “How DID you find out?” Amell cut off her companion.

            “Overheard Mahanon and Leliana.  Then I told Varric so he could use his network to try and find that flower thing.” Hawke replied proudly.

            “You’re all wasting time and resources.” Amell announced. “I’m at peace.  I fulfilled what the Maker sent me to do.”

            “And none of us can persuade her otherwise.” Added Nathaniel. “But feel free to try.”

            Hawke knelt at Amell’s bedside, holding her hand.  
            “Please, Solona.  That’s selfish.” He scolded, though his expression was soft. “We all need you.  We care for you… I--”

            “Leave. Both of you.” Amell closed her eyes, losing what little patience she had. “I wish to be alone.”

            “But--”

            “Commander--”

            “NOW.” Amell ordered, attempting to suppress another cough.

            Nathaniel bowed his head, and nudged an aghast Hawke out of the room.  Amell sighed in relief when her door shut.  All of the fussing was driving her crazy.  She pressed a hand to her clammy forehead.  Her fever was getting worse, and she was beginning to feel disoriented and confused.  A nap would surely help, she thought, slipping into a feverish sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

            Out in the courtyard, there was a mild commotion as a mysterious stranger arrived.  He rode a fine horse, and was clad from helm to toe in shining golden armor.  Most strange of all, he refused to declare his name or purpose to anyone but the Inquisitor or his Spymaster.  Commander Cullen was short on patience, but eventually relented and sent a squire to fetch Leliana.  Upon her appearance, the man dismounted and handed his horse’s reins off to the irritated Commander.  Leliana ignored Cullen’s glare and led the man up to Skyhold silently.

            “I am NOT a stableboy.” Cullen grumbled, watching the two hasten away.

            There was something familiar about the gold armor, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

 

* * *

 

 

            Nearly an hour had passed when the sound of Amell’s cries summoned Nathaniel from his post outside her door.  She’d gotten out of bed and was quivering, her eyes wide and unfocused.

            “Anders!” She whimpered when he approached.

            Before he could correct her, she’d fallen into his arms weeping.  He held her upright and steered her back toward her bed, grimacing a little at her tight embrace.

            “Anders I don’t feel well.  I think something’s wrong.” Amell babbled frantically as Nathaniel tucked her back in. “I thought I was at camp, talking to Morrigan.  Then I thought you and I were at Amaranthine.”

            “Solona…” Nathaniel started gently, preparing to correct her. “You’re in your quarters, and I’m not…”

            “Don’t just leave like that again.” Amell sat back up quickly, winding her arms around his neck and sobbing once more. “You were there, and then you were… you were gone!”

            “…I know.” Nathaniel sighed in defeat, patting his comrade’s back. “Solona… you’re very sick.  I have a potion for you.”

            He disentangled himself and grabbed a sleeping draught from the nightstand.  The end stages of the illness were marked by high fever and vivid hallucinations.  All that could be done for the sufferer was make them sleep comfortably until they passed.  Nathaniel had thought Amell had at least another few days until this odd madness set in.

            She drank the potion willingly, and allowed him to tuck her back in.  She blinked at him blearily, looking confused again.

            “Nathaniel…?”

            “Yes?”

            “Will you send Anders back in…? I…” Amell yawned, her eyes fluttering shut as she trailed off.

            Her second in command sighed deeply, then exited the room, steeling himself.  They’d all thought she had at least another week.  Now he wasn’t sure if she’d have another two days.

 

* * *

 

 

            “…Solona.”

            At the sound of her name, Amell opened her eyes.  She felt much clearer than she had earlier, but weak.  And she was obviously still hallucinating.  At least it was a pleasant one.  She might as well enjoy it before being shaken back to reality. 

He was stroking her hair just like he’d used to, and was speaking softly.  She wasn’t really focused on what he was saying, but relished his voice.  He had that same goofy grin he usually had in her dreams, and his brown eyes were warm and hopeful.

            “Alistair.” She sighed.

           


	15. Love Potion no.9

                “I was wondering when you’d come.” Amell murmured softly, staring up at her former lover.

            “Were you?” Alistair asked, raising a brow and giving her an odd look.

            “Yes. I already made my peace with Cullen, and Anders was here just before.” The woman explained matter of factly.  “You’re the only one left.  Then I suppose the Maker will finally take me.”  
            “I see.” He replied, looking bemused, before turning behind him. “Could we maybe have a moment?”

            Amell frowned, leaning to see past him.  Her jaw dropped as Leliana nodded her assent and led the Inquistor and Hawke out of the room.

            “I’m not dreaming.” She suddenly realized aloud. “Oh sweet Andraste.”

            “You always did catch on quick.” Alistair nodded, looking nostalgic. “Still, pouring that potion down your throat probably helped.”

            The mage felt her forehead and took a quick check of her other vitals.  It couldn’t be.  They were out of the proper ingredients.  Unless…

            “I hope you’re not too angry, but Leliana wrote me once she realized how bad things were getting.  Fortunately we’ve got quite the stock of nonsense back home.”

            “You always could read me.” Amell looked everywhere but at her old companion. “But… why did you come personally?”

            It was Alistair’s turn to look uncomfortable.

            “I knew you were dying.  I didn’t trust anyone else.  I needed to know that you’d be alright.”

            The King’s heartfelt response was met with a snort of laughter from the once-Commander.

            “Yes, I’m sure that I’m _very_ high on your list, Your Majesty.” Amell scoffed. “But now that I’m fine, you ought to return home to your wife.”

            “Actually, the Inquisition--”

            “Would gladly accept your help but doesn’t need you in person. Ferelden needs her King.”

            “Andraste’s tits, would you at least look at me?” Alistair placed a hand on Amell’s face, forcing their eyes to meet.

“I haven’t seen you in a decade.  I know I fucked up… badly.  I didn’t know what else to do.  Maker knows I _still_ don’t.” Alistair’s voice was frantic and desperate. “But Solona… I never forgot you. I tried.  But nothing helps.  I didn’t even pick my own wife because I just didn’t care. I could never love her.  Not after you.”

“So you think saving my life and giving a little cliched speech will do the trick?” Solona slapped Alistair’s hand away. “You never sent one measly letter, even as the King to the Commander of the Grey.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you more.” Alistair looked at Solona miserably. “I wanted you to stay with me, but I knew it would hurt you more to be my mistress.  To never be with me truly, to watch me carry out my duties and have to marry some other woman?”

“I was young and foolish and very much in love.  I would have stayed if you’d wanted me there.  I would have made it work.  You were my _life_.  We did that dark ritual with Morrigan--,” Alistair shuddered at the memory. “--All so we wouldn’t have to live without each other.”

“I know. But it would have been wrong for me to do that to you.” Alistair protested in frustration.

“And is it less wrong now?” Solona challenged. “You’re married and you’re denouncing your poor wife to redeclare your love for me.”

“Wife in name only.  I’m basically a Templar again.” Alistair laughed without humor. “I don’t desire her, or any other woman.  I can’t.  I know it’s still wrong… hell, it’s probably more wrong now.  But you almost died.  Then I’d really have lost you.”

“You did lose me.” Solona reminded him, her voice beginning to shake and her bravado fading.

Alistair took advantage of her weakness and pulled her in for a searing kiss.  She responded in kind, but tears began to roll down her face.  He released her to brush them away tenderly.

“I will leave her.” He whispered.

            “What!?” Solona hiccuped. “Alistair no. You can’t. _We_ can’t--”

            “It’s not fair.  We never asked to be heroes. I never asked to be King.  All I wanted was to serve Ferelden with you at my side.” His dark eyes were shining bright with unshed tears.  “Please. You can come with me.  Or I’ll stay with you.”

            “Alistair--!” Solona attempted to continue their argument.

            “Don’t decide now.  Just think about it. Please.” Alistair pressed a kiss to her forehead. “The world is literally tearing apart.  Us being separated, or me being King, doesn’t change that.  And nothing should have ever changed us.”

            With that, Alistair left, leaving behind a very confused and emotionally drained Amell.


End file.
